


Logan Consequences

by kenchang



Series: Old Man Logan [2]
Category: Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Nudity, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenchang/pseuds/kenchang
Summary: There are always consequences to the decisions we make. For Logan, they can be fatal.





	Logan Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect much accuracy to the source material. It's only fan fiction after all.

Bullies. The world is better off without 'em. Seriously, what are they even for? My old friend Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, was bullied in his youth. Believe it or not, even a tough guy like me gets harassed by bullies on occasion. But only by the absolute most moronic of them. They make the mistake of thinking that an old and short guy like me won't fight back. Usually, it's the biggest and last mistake they ever make.

"I think you're lost, old man," one such moron tells me, as I chomp on an under-cooked hamburger in a shabby diner. "The old folks' home is the other way."

His buddies laugh, and all three of them surround me.

"Come on, Raul. Not this again," the elderly, bespectacled counterman pleads, putting a hand on the bully's arm.

"Shut your face, Tom!", Raul responds, putting a hand on Tom's face and roughly shoving the old timer away.

I get up from the stool and glare up at the bully. This is a silent, final warning. Raul is a big, young guy with a mustache and long, dark, frizzy hair.

He laughs at me and says, "Man, you're so short, I can't tell if you've gotten up from the stool or-"

I break his nose with a headbutt. It's easy if you have a skull covered in Adamantium like I do. The entire diner becomes quiet. Raul staggers back, his nose crumpled and bleeding. He accidentally knocks a couple of glasses off the countertop, and they shatter on the floorboards. There's a look of shock in his face. The pain comes a second later. He falls on his ass, shuts his eyes, covers his bloody nose with both hands, and starts wailing hysterically.

I turn around to face his two buddies. They fearfully back away.

"Get him the hell outta here," I tell them.

They do as I say and carry their friend out by his arms. I return to my stool to finish my meal. The patrons do the same. Afterwards, I fish for some bills in my jacket pocket. I add a little extra for the two broken glasses. But Tom refuses.

"On the house," he tells me with a wide smile. "About time someone put that jerk in his place."

I nod gratefully and stuff the bills back in my pocket. I drink a glass of water to wash the food down, and I'm just about to leave, when a beautiful, young mulatto sits next to me.

"You shouldn't have embarrassed Raul in front of his boys like that," she warns me.

"Yea? Why's that?", I ask indifferently.

"Because actions have consequences," she answers, then looks away, a curiously sad expression on her pretty face.

"Any chance one of those consequences involve you buying me a drink, darlin'?"

She cocks an eyebrow at me, and a corner of her mouth curls upward.

And before you know it, we're both naked and sweating in a cheap motel room. She's moaning noisily with her slender arms wrapped around my neck, her long legs wrapped around my waist, as I fuck her against the wall.

I wouldn't recommend this position to most old men. Doesn't matter how petite the girl is. Lifting her off the ground like this is bad for your back and knees. But I'm not like most old men.

#

Early the next day, I wake up and she's gone. It's all good. I wasn't expecting anything more than a one night stand. She saw me stand up to the town alpha male, and it turned her on. But only temporarily. I should just be grateful that she didn't run off with my wallet.

There's a note on the nightstand which reads, "Had a wonderful night. Now, get out of town as fast as you can. Maybe we'll meet again one day." I can make meeting her again a certainty. All I have to do is track her down by her scent with my powerful mutant olfactory senses. But if that was what she really wanted, then she would have given me her name and phone number.

#

I decide to take her advice. Was just passing through anyway. But not until I've had breakfast. I get dressed, check out of the motel, and walk back to Tom's diner. Then I smell blood. And it's not from the under-cooked burgers.

I open the door and find Tom lying down on the floor. I rush to his side, but I know I'm too late. Maybe quite a few hours too late. I know death when I see it. Seen way too much of it already in my long life. One of his eyes is swollen shut. Some of his front teeth are missing. There's drying blood on the floor from a head wound. Possibly many other injuries I can't see. They beat the poor geezer to death.

Bullies are natural cowards. When they encounter someone they can't intimidate, they vent their frustrations out on weaker prey.

Actions have consequences.

#

I track down the attackers. They left their stench all over Tom's corpse. Maybe they cut their knuckles punching his teeth out. Maybe his face got spattered with their spit as they berated him. Hell, I think they even pissed on his corpse. Either way, these idiots left my nose a nasty but clear trail to follow.

No big surprise, it leads me straight to Raul and his boys. They're drinking beer while sitting on the front steps of a dilapidated apartment building. A little celebration of sorts for their hard earned, three-on-one victory over a frail old man. Let's see how well they do against an old man that ain't so frail.

I don't see any CCTVs. Maybe this small town couldn't afford 'em. Maybe the gangs stole them all. It's all good. Nobody's got the stomach to watch a recording of what I'm about to do next.

"Hey!", one of Raul's thugs calls, tapping his boss' shoulder. When he gets Raul's attention, he points at me. "Look! It's the old man. How the hell did he find us?!"

They simultaneously rise from the steps, putting their bottles down. One of them brandishes a switchblade while advancing towards me.

He excitedly announces, "We're ready for you this time, old man!"

They're really not.

I pop out the claws, steel blades that extend from the gaps between my knuckles. I swing with the ones on my right fist and rip half of the thug's face nearly clean to the bone. He screams in agony and shock. Then I slice his belly open. His guts spill out of him, and he falls to his knees, dropping the switchblade at my feet.

"What the fuck is he?!", Raul's other pal shrieks in fear.

"I don't know! Just shoot him! Shoot him!", Raul yells frantically.

The second thug obeys. His trembling hands fumble for a revolver in his waistband.

Before he can even point the gun at me, I retract the claws and kick the switchblade upward. I catch it in midair and fling it forward. The blade burries itself deep into the second thug's midsection. He drops the gun and gasps as blood squirts out of his wound.

Raul panics. He abandons his dying friends and runs inside the apartment building.

The injured second thug slumps into the ground, gasping for air. I walk towards him. He looks up at me, his face covered in sweat. I take the handle of the switchblade in my hand and give it a twist. The second thug howls in pain. His whole body shudders.

I pull the blade out and let him slowly bleed to death like the first thug. Nobody dies quickly today. I'm not in a merciful mood.

#

I enter the building through the front door and follow Raul's stench up the emergency exit stairs. Where the hell's he going? Unless he's got a bazooka stashed on the roof, it's a stupid move. He's got nowhere to run from me up there.

I walk up the steps and find him at the top floor, struggling with a doorknob. Maybe the door to the roof is locked. Or maybe, in his fear, he's trying to open it in the wrong direction. When he sees me coming, he immediately cowers in a corner. His nose is heavily bandaged. But so are the knuckles on his right hand. So he was the one who cut his fist on Tom's teeth.

"Please don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!", he begs.

I hurt him.

I start by shoving my boot into his gut. When he buckles over, I grab a handful of his hair, yank his head down, and shove my knee into his mouth, breaking several of his front teeth.

Then I toss him down a flight of stairs. I walk down after him to the landing where he's lying on his back, dazed, breathing heavily, his mouth bleeding. I pin him down with my knee on his chest. It makes him groan. I'm a lot heavier than I look, thanks to all that Adamantium on my bones.

I punch him in the eye. Then I punch him there again. And again. And again. I wanna make sure that it swells shut like Tom's did.

"Stop! Stop!", he sobs.

"You shouldn't have killed the old man," I respond coldly.

"Oh God. We were only going to rough him up a little. But I just got so angry. I didn't mean to kill him!"

I pop the claws back out and say, "Actions have consequences, bub."

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
